The History Job
by EKSimmons
Summary: A phone call sends Eliot racing home to OK. Parker and Hardison quickly follow after finding evidence of a deeper plot no one saw coming. Someone wants the Spencer family destroyed at all costs. To save the family, the Spencer men will have to face their emotions & their pasts- including the moment that drove them apart. Sequel to The Family Job & The Low Low Price Expanded Ending.
1. Chapter 1

**The History Job**

***This story is a sequel to **_**The Family Job**_** as well as **_**The Low, Low Price Job Expanded Ending**_**. Events and characters from both works are mentioned or reappear. Knowledge of both is recommended before reading this work. Story takes place after Season 5 finale.**

Eliot placed the top bun on his latest creation. The burger stood tall on the plate next to the seasoned hand sliced wedges of potato- the last in a line of plates running the length of the Bridgeport Brew Pub bar.

"Done," he breathed in pride.

Parker and Hardison continued arguing at a table- Hardison's laptop open and whirring between them. The hitter's row of art sat ignored.

"Hey!" Eliot yelled. "You insisted on sampling the new menu before signing off on the gastro pub- it's going to get cold."

Hardison glanced at the bar and swallowed, "_ALL_ that? Did you redo the _entire_ menu?"

Eliot frowned, "Yeah."

"Yummy," Parker grinned.

"Taste it first, Parker," Hardison warned.

"What's the last thing you cooked, Hardison?" Eliot sniped. Parker giggled.

"Just because you cook, don't make it good…" Hardison chided.

Parker hopped up to the first dish and scooped up the fork. Before Eliot could give the dish an explanation, his phone rang out. He reached down to check the number while preparing to hit the silence button. The familiar number on the screen gave him pause. Eliot blinked and answered the phone as Parker and Hardison tilted their heads in curiosity.

"Hello, Mom," Eliot chirped with a smile.

The voice on the other end was scared, filled with emotion and nerves as it blubbered incoherently. "Eliot… I can't… youottacomeomeow.."

Eliot's face twisted with concern, "Mom… Mom, slow down. I can't understand you. What happened?"

Mom was crying and continued to blur her speech too fast to comprehend. He was about to plead with her again when he heard another familiar voice in the background.

"Mom, let me… I know…" the female voice soothed.

"Jesse?" Eliot queried. "What's going on?"

She sighed heavily before she responded. "Eliot… it's Dad… he had a stroke. The paramedics just took him. Mom isn't taking it well. Hell, none of us are…" He heard her voice crack.

"Jesse, I'm on my way- first flight."

"Okay…" she swallowed.

Eliot hung up the phone and stared at the floor a moment.

"You better hurry, plane leaves in an hour," Hardison blurted.

Slowly nodding, Eliot began to wander toward the door.

"Is it Dillon?" Parker breathed.

Eliot shook his head. "No, he's fine."

"I'll drive you…" Parker offered as Eliot continued absently toward the door. He nodded- still heading out.

"That can't be good," Hardison locked eyes with Parker. She shook her head.

* * *

Parker re-entered the Brew Pub forty minutes later. Hardison had cleaned up the plates and was returning to his laptop.

"Guess he caught the flight," he joked half-heartedly as he sat.

"Yeah," she replied as she plopped down across from him.

"He was pretty rattled."

Parker nodded, "His father had a stroke. I didn't think they were that close."

"They're not," Hardison replied. "I think that's the problem. They talk now but they never hashed out whatever happened to make Eliot leave in the first place. If his Dad doesn't make it – he'll never have that chance."

The sadness in Parker's eyes said it all as she sighed.

"I feel the same way," Hardison comforted.

The laptop began squawking and flashing.

Parker sniffed. "What is it?"

"I don't…" Hardison began to shrug and froze. "Somebody accessed Eliot's rap sheet…" he hit a couple buttons on the keyboard, "AND his military record."

"That seems like odd timing," Parker pursed her face.

"I have a really bad feeling about this." They stared at each other a moment.

"I'll drive." Parker stood up.

"Finding a flight now," Hardison agreed.

* * *

"Are you alright, sir?" the bubbly young flight attendant asked Eliot.

He looked at her in surprise. She rolled her eyes to his hands. The magazine he'd been holding the last hour was upside down. His eyes closed as he sighed and shut the pages.

"Nerves… sorry," he apologized.

"Where are you headed, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Home…" He surprised himself with the ease of the word.

"Parent?" she inferred.

He nodded, "Yeah, and I don't know if I'm too late."

"We'll get you there as fast as we can. Let me get you some water." She headed for the galley.

Eliot turned and stared across the two empty seats and out the window. Between the clouds, he could see tiny hamlets-sprawling cities that looked like tiny Christmas lights. Everything was so small, and he wished the crushing feeling in his chest could be shrunk so easily.

"Here you go, hun," the flight attendant set the water down with her right hand as she squeezed his shoulder with her left. She smiled warmly and continued down the aisle.

He took a sip and leaned back. Over the last three years Eliot had reconnected with his family. While they weren't tightly knit yet- not like the team- they were a family. So much had yet to be said and explained. They had put it off for so long- now the chance could have been lost forever. "_Dammit_," he thought. "_You better make It, Dad. I've got something to say."_

* * *

"I hate flying… the Wi-Fi is a joke and there's almost no signal strength. I feel naked," Hardison whined as he glanced around the cabin. He and Parker sat in the center of the plane, one empty seat sat on his right.

Parker turned her orange juice cup slowly.

"Eliot had good tailwinds for his flight, we won't so we're supposed to land two hours after he does. He _should_ still be at the hospital, so hopefully he'll stay safe 'til we get there," he rambled.

"Mm hmmm," Parker mumbled without removing her eyes from her glass. Hardison finally diverted his gaze toward the abnormally quiet thief.

"Okay, what's eating you?" he asked.

She looked up at the seat in front of him and twitched her lips.

"Come on, girl. Talk to me." He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

Parker sighed before looking at him. "This whole thing with Eliot… I mean. If you somehow had the chance to talk to your parents…" Hardison pulled back into his seat, "would you do it? Have you ever wondered what would happen?"

"I would, I think. Curiosity, I think. I didn't really know them, so I don't know what it would be like. It would be nice to know a few things," Hardison answered.

"I've been trying to picture it," Parker frowned, "but I can't. What's wrong with me?"

Hardison put his arm on the back of her seat. "Nothing is wrong with you, Parker. You're very realistic in your thoughts and grasp of concepts. Having a heart to heart with a bunch of dead people is hard for a lot of people to imagine. Maybe one day you'll be able to picture it. Until then, there isn't anything wrong with you. You know, Eliot might be lucky in that he can have a chance to talk to his family- sort stuff out. But I know we're lucky in a way too. We may not get our answers, but we'll never have to worry about acceptance or rejection."

She blinked at him a moment. "I guess. Which one do you think Eliot will get?"

He pulled his arm back. "I'm not sure yet but they've been talking- that's positive."

"Positive is good." Parker took a deep breath and released slowly.

* * *

It felt like a week had passed since he left Portland by the time Eliot pulled his rented pickup into the hospital parking lot. He had not even taken the time to wonder at the Nevada plates on it. That feeling in his stomach had gotten worse. Coming to terms with his feelings on the yet unfinished history between his father and himself was tearing him up. The hospital restrictions had kept him from being able to call and receive updates. He hoped he was not too late as he passed through the doors, making his way to the Emergency Room reception desk.

"May I help you?" the haggard attendant asked. The man had been there longer than most people could handle and it showed on his face.

Eliot placed his fingertips on the desktop. "I need the room number…"

"Eliot?!" Jesse's voice carried through the clamor of the waiting room. She approached, grabbing his arm into a half hug.

"Nevermind…" Eliot told the attendant before turning fully into Jesse's hug. He embraced her back, the contact easing the knotted feeling in his gut.

"Glad you're here. He's stable, but still waiting for test results. I came to check on you," Jesse explained as she released her grip.

"That's good," he sighed.

She exhaled loudly, "Yes, it is. He had us all pretty worried there. Mom is doing better as well. For a while, I thought she was going to join him." Jesse's hands shook slightly as the reality of her words hit.

Eliot grabbed her hands and locked eyes with her. "They're okay- it's going to be okay."

"You can't manipulate this, Eliot. No bag of cons will change anything if this were to take a turn for the worst. We could have lost him- both of them. I'm not ready for that."

"I know, believe me. I'm not ready either."

Jesse sniffed and rolled her eyes away until she could stop the tears threatening to fall. Once she was certain she had control, she swallowed and looked at him. "I suppose we should get in there before Mom sends security looking for me."

Eliot laughed. He waved her ahead and followed her to a room down the hall.

She disappeared through the doorway a step ahead. As Eliot rounded the doorway, he heard a shout.

"UNCLE ELIOT!" Dillon's near five foot, 12 year old frame burst through the door, colliding with Eliot's chest. Eliot played along, staggering back, almost leveling a male nurse coming through the hall. The nurse grumbled crossly. Eliot pulled himself upright, forcing Dillon to fall back on his own feet before apologizing to the nurse already well down the hall.

"You're getting too big," he teased as he rubbed the mop of hair on Dillon's head.

"I'm working on it," Dillon puffed with pride.

"I better see how Grandma and Grandpa are doing before we both get in trouble," Eliot replied. He smiled as he followed Dillon into the hospital room.

William Spencer looked peaceful sleeping in the bed, an IV running out of his arm. He looked healthy as Eliot had ever remembered despite the ride in the ambulance hours earlier.

"I am so glad you made it!" Mom squealed as she grabbed hold of Eliot in a vise grip hug.

"I hear it's good news," he replied, trying to find a polite way to pry her off.

"Yes," she sniffed, letting go of him. "Doctor said it wasn't a stroke. His something levels were out of whack but he should be just fine. A couple tests haven't finished yet, but expect we can take him home as soon as he wakes up."

"Glad to hear it."

"It is so wonderful to have both of you here! Both my babies… your father always did do things the hard way but I will take the blessing."

"She's right. It is kind of nice having us all together again," Jesse smiled.

Mom began herding everyone to the chairs and window ledge to take a seat. "We have to wait on your father to wake up so… tell me, what is going on with you?"

"Same old thing… I am working on changing the Brew Pub into a gastro pub but otherwise nothing new," Eliot answered.

"That's exciting. Your father and I will have to go to Portland one of these times to see it. We also have to go to Raleigh and meet Flynn…"

"Flynn?" Eliot raised an eyebrow.

"Jesse is seeing a man named Flynn Carter. He's a marketing researcher. Seems like a lovely boy," Eliot eyed Jesse, "and he is so good to Dillon."

"I never heard anything about him," Eliot frowned.

"I knew you would worry. I'm not stupid enough to walk right into another Chattum, Eliot," Jesse defended.

Eliot sighed, "That's not what I meant."

"That's exactly what you meant," she retorted. After a breath, she smiled. "And I appreciate my big brother feeling that way." He laughed.

"Now if we could just get you settled down with a nice girl…" Mom rambled.

"Mom… no. I'm happy with things the way they are. It took me a long time to get to this place. Besides, I wouldn't have time for a steady girl."

She pouted, "You're not getting any younger- and neither am I. I want to see my boy happy with a family before I go."

"You may have to settle for happy."

"I don't know," Jesse interrupted. "You're a great brother and I think Parker and Hardison are turning out fine." She laughed at him.

"You didn't…" Eliot narrowed his eyes at her in jest.

"And with that… I'm going to get a drink. Be back." Jesse stood with a quick bow and scampered away.

"Yes, will we get to meet these friends of yours?" Mom pried.

"Maybe someday…" he replied.

"Old man trying to sleep… too hard with all the jabbering," William's voice cracked. They all turned toward him in surprise.

"Honey, you're awake! I'm so happy! Let me get Jesse quick," Mom beamed. She poked her head down the hall and called for Jesse. There was no reply. She called again more sharply, again no response came.

"Guess she's in the bathroom," Mom offered, rejoining the group.

"How are you feeling, Grandpa?" Dillon grinned as he leaned on the foot of the bed.

"Ridiculous, laying here all lazy and useless in these hospital pajamas while you gawk. Haven't you got anything better to do?" William complained.

His wife pat his shoulder. "Doctor said the tests should be coming soon and they would discharge you right away. It wasn't a stroke, thankfully, and far as they can tell you're healthy as ever."

William eyed Eliot silently standing with his arms loosely crossed near the foot of the bed. "How long you been here, boy? Nothing productive to do?"

"About twenty minutes, Dad," he answered, not moving his arms. "Plane landed about an hour ago. And yeah," he uncrossed his arms, one finger rose to his lips momentarily. "I had lots of productive things to do – but this was a little more important."

"Must you two always antagonize each other? My boys- so alike you repel each other like magnets. Can you TRY and get along this time, for me?" Mom fussed.

Eliot rolled his head with an 'aw shucks' flair. "Sorry, Mom, you're right."

The doctor entered the room, ending the awkward cloud of silence that had enveloped them.

"Well, look who's awake? How are you feeling?" He checked William's pulse as he spoke.

"Fine, just give me the papers and send the bill I'll mistake for my mortgage, doc," William sassed.

"Are the tests back, doctor?" Mom inquired.

"Evelyn, the tests don't matter. I feel fine- I'm getting out of here."

The doctor laughed, "The important ones are. I don't see any indication that you are at any further risk. Far as I'm concerned, you take it easy for a couple days and you can go."

"Thank you so much, doctor." Evelyn shook his hand.

William slapped his hand on the blanket. "Get me my clothes and let's get out of this sick asylum."

"I'll get your paperwork together," the doctor replied as he helped remove the IV.

"That's it?" Eliot frowned.

"I can't force him to stay- and I don't believe he needs to- so why argue it? I've got a stubborn old goat of a father like him myself. What I've learned is you pick your fights," the doctor explained.

"He is one of the most stubborn," Evelyn interjected with a smile. The doctor winked as he left the room.

"Dillon, boy, fetch my bag there," William barked and pointed at a small bag of clothes on the table behind his grandson.

"Got it," he replied as he bounded back to retrieve the bag. He dropped it on the bed with a grin.

"Do you want me to help you?" Evelyn asked as William crawled out of the blankets.

"I've got it. I'm not feeble yet." He grabbed the bag and closed himself in the bathroom.

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Don't start," Evelyn ordered. "He's tense… it'll pass."

"I didn't say anything," Eliot threw his hands up.

"Eliot, I'm your mother. You don't have to say anything for me to hear it."

He leaned and pointed at Dillon as he whispered, "THIS is why you better be good to your momma. They KNOW." Dillon laughed.

"Speaking of which, where IS your momma?" Evelyn glanced at the door.

"I'll go get her," Eliot offered. As he turned to exit the room, the doorway filled with the haggard male attendant, hospital security and two police officers.

"Eliot Spencer?" one of the officers asked as they cautiously entered the room, followed by the security, hands hovering over their weapons.

"Yeah… what is this about?" Eliot answered slowly.

"Do you have a black Ford F250 with Nevada plate 11991L6?" the officer continued.

"Why does this sound like an interrogation?"

"We don't want to make a scene, especially not in front of the kid."

"ELIOT?" Evelyn cried. Dillon breathed heavily as he stared back and forth across the faces before him.

"Eliot Spencer- I hereby place you under arrest on suspicion of assault, false imprisonment and kidnapping," the officer announced.

"What?" Eliot was dumbfounded but refused to resist in front of his family, allowing the officers to cuff him.

"You have the right to remain silent…"

"I know 'em," Eliot hissed.

"You are waving the reading of your Miranda rights?" the officer confirmed.

"Yes," Eliot muttered. He knew the rights and didn't want to subject Dillon to the upsetting scene longer than necessary.

"What is going on?" Evelyn cried.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the second officer replied as he grabbed Eliot's elbow.

"Mind telling me who I supposedly assaulted and confined?" Eliot demanded.

"We responded to a call about a body. We found a woman bound and beaten in the back of your rental," the first officer explained.

"That's crazy. He just got into town- he's been here with us. It's a mistake! My boy would never do anything like that!" Evelyn pleaded.

William threw open the bathroom door. He finished pulling on his shirt as he faced the officers.

"What the hell is going on? My boy ain't perfect but he'd never lay hand on a woman in that manner. I'd bust him myself if he even thought it."

"This the guy?" one of the hospital security officers asked the attendant still standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, that's him. He met her in the lobby," the attendant replied.

"The lobby?" Eliot's jaw dropped.

"They met up an' she called him Eliot," the attendant attested.

"Jesse?! You found Jesse out there?" Eliot choked.

"My girl? You found my daughter like that?" Evelyn cupped her hand to her lips as William embraced her.

"Ask her- she'll tell you the truth. Her brother wouldn't lay a hand on her, and he'd break any man that did," William insisted.

The first officer sighed and looked them all in the eyes. "We would, but she wasn't conscious."

"I wanna see her…" Eliot huffed, his face red.

"She's already been taken into the ER. No one will be seeing her right now. I'm sorry."

Evelyn buried her face in William's chest.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. We have to take him in for questioning," the second officer added. "I'm sure it'll be cleared up."

"He wouldn't…" Dillon blurted. He had sat forgotten near the corner of the room. His face streamed with tears as he watched in shock.

"It's okay," Eliot reassured them. The second officer ushered him out, flanked by the hospital security.

"I'm gonna need to ask you some questions as well," the remaining officer stated.

"Anything to speed this up and get my boy out…" William replied.


	2. Chapter 2

Over two hours had passed since his arrest and Eliot found himself alone in an interrogation room. The officer who had cuffed him excused himself for a phone call, leaving Eliot sitting cuffed to the chair. He passed the time staring at the two way mirror, trying to guess how many people stood behind it and pinpointing their locations.

Finally the officer reentered the room. "Good news- witness testimonies and surveillance video confirmed you never left that room. We will be dropping the charges."

Eliot's tongue rolled across his teeth before he spoke. "BUT you're not cutting me loose."

"No," the officer sat across from him, "we don't have any charges against you- but your prints caught the attention of the FBI. They have two agents en route to collect you any minute."

A sigh erupted from Eliot's chest as his eyes closed and his head bowed.

"I'll see that they keep you updated on your sister's condition," the officer assured him as he laid his hand on the table. Eliot nodded when a knock on the door disrupted them.

"Guess that's them." The officer stood and went to open the door.

"We're from the Bureau…" a familiar voice echoed in the room. Eliot looked at the door quickly. Parker and Hardison stood in the doorway flashing FBI badges.

"Agent Hagen… this is Agent Thomas…" Parker introduced. "We're here to pick up."

"Yes, Spencer right in here. I was just telling him." The officer invited them into the room with a wave.

"Eliot Spencer, we've been looking for you for quite a while," Hardison taunted as he entered.

The relief of seeing his friends overran the confusion in Eliot's mind. He didn't know how they knew to follow him, but he knew it saved him from a messy bit of work.

"Nothing to say?" Hardison ripped. He was met by narrowing eyes. Eliot may have been relieved to see them, but his sense of humor was gone in the chaos of the day's events.

"He is all yours. I did promise him that I would make sure you kept him updated on his sister's condition. She was assaulted earlier," the officer began.

"You arrested him on suspicion of that act," Parker stated.

"Well, yeah, but we've cleared him of it. I just feel criminal or not, that he deserves to know."

"We will make sure to do that," Hardison answered with a quick finger point. He looked at Eliot's cuffed wrist and began rolling his finger in the air above it.

"Right," the officer approached and opened the cuff. "Thank you, Agent Thomas."

Eliot stood up as Parker pulled her own pair of handcuffs out. She began to place them on his wrists.

"These better have a key," he whispered in a growling voice.

Parker smiled slyly as she snapped the cuffs closed, leaving him standing with his wrists pulled tight across his front.

* * *

Outside the police department, Parker ushered Eliot into the back of a dark van labeled transport. Hardison continued talking to the cops until she had finished. She cleared her throat to prompt him.

"Keep up the good work," Hardison saluted as he turned on heel and made his way to the driver's seat. Parker nodded and leapt into the passenger seat.

All three waited until Hardison cleared the lot before speaking. Eliot sat on the sideways facing bench seat, looking around when Parker slid the partition between the front and back aside to allow communication.

"Duffel under the seat- key and clothes," she stated.

Eliot reached beneath the seat, removed the duffel and placed it on the seat next to him. He dug the key out and began to open the cuffs.

"How the hell did you know?" he demanded as he opened the second cuff.

"It's a gift," Hardison smiled.

"Hardison… I may be grateful but it doesn't mean I won't hit you."

"Right," Hardison swallowed. "My monitors received several pings when your flight took off. Someone opened your police file and your military record- I mean the SEALED one. That sent more than a few bad feelings going. We came straight here. The moment we landed, Dillon called to tell us you'd been arrested. I hacked the police communications and intercepted their messages to the FBI. Neither side will know you're missing for a while."

"What the hell is going on?" Eliot pulled the hospital scrubs and ID card out of the bag. "Scrubs?"

"You want to see Jesse, don't you?" Parker asked.

"Did you see her? How is she?" Eliot dropped the scrubs in his lap as he talked.

Parker and Hardison stared at each other silently for a minute.

"She was in bad shape, man. Some really bad injuries including some trauma were mentioned. Head trauma was in there. She's in a coma. I'm sorry," Hardison explained.

Parker stared at Eliot who froze at the thought. His eyes widened, his breath stopped and he paled.

"She's in ICU. Problem is half that hospital saw you get arrested and you're supposed to be in FBI custody. You can't exactly just walk in there to see her," Hardison reasoned.

Eliot swallowed, staring down at the scrubs. "So I have to sneak in… to see my own sister."

"That's not the worst of it."

"How does it get worse?" Eliot flinched as he said it, knowing it could get worse.

"A letter was delivered while we spoke with Dillon and your folks. It was addressed to Spencer. Your mom read a bit before your dad took it. The phrases 'white hat', 'turn coat' and 'double cross' were mentioned, as well as 'being imprisoned by a former associate'."

Eliot's eyes grew fifty percent in size as the phrases registered.

"Before you ask, I already checked. Moreau is still secure in lockdown, but we know that doesn't mean he can't be calling the shots," Hardison continued.

A choke escaped Eliot's throat. "I _did_ put her in the back of the truck."

"Eliot, don't…" Parker began.

"Don't tell me it's not my fault. Moreau was my fault. If I hadn't gotten involved in his operation in the first place- she'd be fine." Eliot kicked the opposing seat in frustration.

"Ay, hey… this is a rental, man!" Hardison barked. "Let's just focus. We can do this."

Eliot sighed, "Yeah." He began untying his boots as Parker slid the partition nearly closed, allowing enough gap to hear.

"So if Moreau is still locked up- he has to have someone out here doing the dirty work… and someone back there to relay messages," Parker reasoned.

"There wasn't anyone left of the original crew when we locked him up- he has to have new guys," Eliot replied as he slid his boots off.

'Which leaves us nowhere, San Lorenzo insists no one has visited Moreau or spoken to him without supervision placed by Flores. We have no way of narrowing the search to find the guy on this end," Hardison sighed.

"So much for an advantage over the cops," Parker muttered. She slid the partition just enough to stick her arm through. An earbud lay in her open palm.

"Thanks." Eliot snatched the earbud between his fingers and slid it in his ear as Parker closed the partition once more. "We'll just have to do it the hard way."

"Come again?" Hardison groaned.

Eliot tightened the waist on his pants as he tied the drawstring. He pulled his outer shirt off. "We have to draw him out."

"And how do we do that?"

"We know what he wants…" Eliot paused as he pulled the scrubs top over his head. "Hardison…"

"What?"

"Where are they?"

"Should be at the hospital, why?"

"He won't strike as long as the cops are crawling around," Eliot breathed and finished pulling the top down over his head.

"Um, the cops processed your truck and moved on."

"Dammit, Hardison! You left them alone with this guy?"

Hardison scoffed, "Thank you for rescuing me, but you should have left me for some unknown danger. Seriously, man, we know better. We called in some back up." He smiled.

* * *

Eliot made his way toward Jesse's room. He was grateful that Hardison had taken note of the room number so he wouldn't have to ask. Even with his scrubs and his hair shoved up into a surgeon's cap- he didn't think he could fool the attendant still manning the reception desk.

As he stepped over the threshold, he took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. His steps slowed to take in the view gradually. Jesse lay in the bed, a blanket pulled over her chest leaving only her arms and from her shoulders up visible. Her arms were bruised; several fingers were swollen or broken altogether. A gauze wrapped bandage did little to cover the swollen, bruised and cut up face. Her chest rose and fell to the pulses of the machines behind her. The entire scene caused him to lose his breath.

"Nice outfit," the familiar drawl teased. He turned to face the voice. Dark Dockers, a pale blue polo, a cocky grin and a loose, curled blonde ponytail on a tall frame met his eyes.

"Quinn," he stated.

"Eliot Spencer… trouble seems to stalk you," Quinn smiled as he rubbed his right hand across his left knuckles.

"A habit I plan to quit."

"Honestly, I'm sorry about your sister. Looks like she doled out some before… you know. Pretty impressive," he admitted as he approached. Eliot finally noticed his family sitting in the corner of the room.

"I taught her a few things," he added absently.

"It shows."

Eliot stared at the corner a moment. "Thank you for doing this."

Quinn grinned, "Hardison called- said you needed help. I was in Dallas and figured what the hell. Being able to say Eliot Spencer owes me one, better than cash any day- not that I'm not getting paid too."

A slight smile tugged the corner of Eliot's mouth as he nodded.

"I'll be over here," Quinn pointed toward the doorway as he spoke. He clapped Eliot's shoulder and stepped aside.

Evelyn and William left their seats in the corner to speak to Eliot.

"Honey," Evelyn sniveled as she hugged him. "I'm glad they straightened it all out and let you go."

"Uh, yeah something like that," Eliot responded.

"With that getup- I'm going to guess no one knows you're here. Do we want to know why?" William growled.

"Long story and probably not," Eliot answered. "Can you give me a minute?"

They both nodded and shuffled over to the door by Quinn as Eliot approached Dillon, who was curled up in a chair.

'Hey, kiddo, how are you doing?"

Dillon shrugged. His eyes were red and puffy. His gaze was locked on his hands, fiddling with a stone weight.

"What have you got there?" Eliot asked.

"Mom gave it to me a couple years ago..." Dillon held out his palm to display a carved stone deer, "she said it had something to do with family and safety."

Eliot pinched the head of the deer in his fingers and flipped it over to see a cross scratched into the left hind quarter. He choked on a laugh despite himself.

"I know, I gave it to her," he sighed.

"Really?" Dillon sniffled.

"Yeah," Eliot picked it up as he sat next to Dillon. "I was eight, I think, and your momma was four or five. We used to wander an artisans' faire in the park near our house on weekends. A little old woman carved these and we would sit and watch her for hours. Your mom wanted one but she couldn't buy it obviously. I think I walked every dog in a two mile radius eight times over to afford it- but I did it. It was a way for her to remember that we were a family and nothing would destroy that. I didn't realize she had kept it so long."

"She said if I hold it when I'm scared, I'll be safe."

Eliot handed the deer back to Dillon. "That's the story."

"I shouldn't have it. If she would have kept it…" Dillon cried.

"She gave it to you for a reason, Dillon. She loves you and she wants you to be safe. Much as it hurts, she would be worse off if anything happened to you. You should keep it- but maybe keep it close to her," Eliot lowered his voice as he leaned in to say the last line.

"Okay," Dillon sniffed as he ran the back of his hand across his face. "Uncle Eliot?"

"Yeah?"

Dillon hugged him. "I love you."

"Same here, kiddo." Eliot wrapped his right arm around him a moment before Dillon pulled back.

"Are you gonna find this guy?"

"You bet… and he won't hurt anyone again."

"Good. I wish I could help."

"I do need your help. Quinn is going to stay here with you to keep you safe. I know you'll listen to him, but Grandma and Grandpa aren't going to want to… I need you to help him keep them safe. They'll listen to you."

"I'll do my best."

"Good boy. Alright, I need to talk to them for a bit. I want you to go with Quinn and get something to eat. Your momma's not gonna be happy when she wakes up if you haven't eaten."

Dillon laughed, "She would be mad."

Eliot smiled, "Then you better get."

After shoving the deer back into his pocket, Dillon scampered to the door. He told them what Eliot said about eating. Quinn nodded Eliot's way and led Dillon down the hall toward the cafeteria. William and Evelyn made their way back toward Eliot as he made his way across the room.

"I wanted to apologize. This is my fault- all of it," Eliot began.

'What the hell are you talking about, boy?" William sniped.

"Hardison told me about the letter…"

"That letter wasn't for you, boy. It ain't your fault. It's mine."

"What?" Eliot was lost.

William inhaled sharply. "It's a long story, boy, and one I guess is long overdue in telling. No point in hiding it now." He walked over to the chair by the window; Evelyn sat on the window ledge behind him.

"You better sit, honey," she advised. Eliot took the chair across from them.

"That night before you left… we had that big fight about you joining the military…" William sighed.

"I remember. You hated the military," Eliot replied dryly.

"I gave you that impression, but it wasn't true. Truth is- I'm a 21 gun salute breath holding patriot through and through. Part of me couldn't have been prouder of your decision. I served myself."

Eliot's eyes grew wide. "But…"

William wagged a finger at him to hush. "Let me finish. I joined when I turned eighteen, Army Rangers as a matter of fact. In my late twenties, I found myself on a special unit- commonly called black ops nowadays- a preventive strike unit. Our leader was a man named Harold Brixton. We were all over the world. No one was better. We got orders to strike this forest compound without prejudice. Arms dealers and warlords the intel said. Suppose now they would have said terrorists. Anyway, we hit the compound. We were halfway through the building before we realized the intel was wrong. The men around us were not armed soldiers; they were diplomats for a revolutionary sect. Brixton had forged the orders because he perceived the sect as a threat."

Evelyn placed her hand on his shoulder.

"You never said any of this…" Eliot swallowed.

"Of course not and I'll tell you why. After we realized what happened, we pulled out- all of us. The military did their best to cover the situation. We admitted to all of it. Since we were following what we thought were orders, we were granted special provisions. For our honesty, we were given silent discharges and were allowed to keep military medical services until we could find outside employ. No dishonor but we lost our pensions and our records were expunged. Brixton was ruled incompetent to stand trial for his crimes and was locked away in some asylum. He was so delusional and paranoid- I don't know how it was missed for so long. Anyway, I found myself back home, no work history and with plenty of demons in my head. I couldn't handle it. Your mother tried to temper them but I couldn't undo anything I did. I decided I had to start fresh- get away from everything I had known. Your mother understood that and supported me. She uprooted herself and came with me here. I never told a soul about my military background. Your mother became my crutch. My whole life was her- taking care of her- and it worked for a while. She was so beautiful when she smiled. That smile could tame any demon. When she found out she was pregnant with you, her smile was never more beautiful. I knew that it meant I had two reasons to live."

Eliot swallowed knowing what came next. Evelyn covered her mouth as she felt her tears start.

"When she…" William started to tear up. "When she died in delivery- I lost myself. I wasn't sure how to continue. I couldn't help but believe it was the demons in my soul getting even with me. I became hollow."

The room grew eerily quiet as all three of them sat in silent tears.

"You saved me, Eliot, you and Evelyn. I returned home from work one day and found Evelyn trying to rock you to sleep. You had such a terrible colic those first months and fussed so much. I don't know how I would have handled you myself. Nanny or angel, I still don't know which one she is but she was a godsend. Something about that moment made me watch. I saw her gentle touch and coo as it soothed you. That eventual peace as you fell asleep… it struck me. I knew I still had a purpose. I had to protect that. I wouldn't let my demons ruin your life. Not that it worked. You may have your mother's eyes and smile, but you bleed me. I knew you would be a hard case when you clocked Frank that day… You took so much from him, but when he went after Jessica- I still hear that cop laughing about a grown man being owned by a little kid. I was proud as hell and just as scared. When you brought home that military folder your junior year- I was scared then too. I wanted to be your proud pop- but I knew they would see what I saw. I couldn't see those demons, that regret, in your eyes… your momma's eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I resisted. It probably pushed you into it, but it was all I could think. Sadly, all it seems to have done is cost me twenty years without my son. I couldn't even protect you from that… I know I saw it in your eyes that night on the porch. You've had your own regret and demons that now haunt you. I have to wonder if I could have spared you that if I had just been honest with you back then. I'm sorry." William broke down.

Eliot couldn't move as he processed everything he heard. His bottom lip quivered as he fought the tears.

Evelyn rolled her gaze toward him. "Eliot?"

He finally cracked. The tears flowed down his cheeks. She stood and rushed over to hug his face against her chest.

"I'm sorry, Eliot. I was wrong. I've been a complete ass. You deserved better, instead you got me- me and my 'BOY'. Now look at us. Jesse, you and my stubborn pride- what did I do?" William sighed.

Eliot composed himself as he slid Evelyn aside to look his father in the eye. "You did what you could. No one could ask more. You have all of us yet. You made mistakes- so have all of us. But you try to deal with them and protect those around you. Yeah, you may not have stopped me from finding my demons- but you sure as hell are showing me I can get past them just like you. You have Mom here, and Jesse… you did right there. And you have Dillon."

"Dillon loves to go fishing with me, but he idolizes YOU," William argued.

"You just said I _am_ you. Dillon loves you. Let him see the real you and I think you'll see it too," Eliot corrected.

William nodded. "You know, it feels really good to get this out. I should have done this years ago." They all choked back a laugh.

Eliot scratched his brow a moment as he considered the life-altering conversation that was now winding down. The initial trigger still troubled him. "So the letter… how did you know it was for you?"

"White Hat was my tag. The letter was for me. I'm positive," William answered.

"Brixton upset enough to hire someone?"

"Possible… he is crazy enough."

"Um, (sniff) Eliot? He wouldn't need to…" Hardison's voice in the com startled Eliot as he realized it had been open the entire time.

Eliot pressed his finger against the com as he muttered, "Dammit, Hardison, you couldn't have said something to let me know you were _listening_!?"

Parker and Hardison glanced at each other in the van. Both were misty eyed at the conversation they had overheard.

"Yeah, sorry," Hardison choked.

"Now what do you mean?" Eliot sighed at the uselessness of scolding the two team members.

"Who are you…?" Evelyn began to ask but William shushed her.

"Brixton, I found him." Hardison hit a key on his laptop. "He was released from the asylum two years ago. He's out and free."

Eliot locked eyes with William as he clenched his teeth.

"What did you find?" William asked.

"Brixton's a free man- two years."

"And he's here- and he isn't looking to talk," William frowned as he looked at Jesse in the bed.

"No, he's not," Eliot agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

Parker and Hardison took Eliot to his parent's home to talk planning while Quinn kept watch on the family awaiting updates on Jesse. It had been a long night for everyone and Eliot took advantage of Hardison's computer search time to change into new clothes. He exited the bathroom with the scrubs rolled up in his hand.

"Find anything?" he asked as he glanced around for a place to deposit the used garments. After a moment, he tossed the rolled up scrubs into an empty chair in the corner.

"I found the facility Brixton was in- it's near Little Rock," Hardison answered lounging back and grinning.

"That's it?" Eliot glowered.

"I can't find a trace of him since he left. No credit cards, no driver's license, no tax returns, nothing- it's almost like he vanished."

"He's black ops trained- if he didn't want to be tracked… he won't be."

"Speaking of that," Hardison sat up and hit a few keys, "I can't find anything on the unit either. When your dad said expunged- he meant clean. There isn't a trace in any record of either one of them. I got nothing."

"So we just wait?" Parker frowned.

"We've waited long enough," Eliot growled.

"I can't access Brixton's psych file from here. He was admitted in the early, what, 70's? Those are still paper files. There's bound to be _something_ in there," Hardison explained.

"Okay, so we go check out the files," Parker stated.

"You two can handle that. I'm gonna see if I can get anything useful out of Dad," Eliot replied.

Parker nodded and slapped Hardison on the back. "I'm driving."

"Um, I never agreed to that…" Hardison breathed nervously as Parker bounded for the door.

"Have fun," Eliot smiled. Hardison frowned.

* * *

Eliot swept the house for bugs and traps while he awaited the family's return. Jesse was stable but unchanged. At the hospital staff's urging- the family agreed to return home for some rest and refreshing. Quinn stayed with them as they took a few moments to say goodbye to Jesse before accompanying them all home. They arrived as Eliot finished his search.

Dillon curled up on the couch as soon as they entered and fell asleep within moments. William hung the coats in the front closet as Evelyn gave Eliot a quick hug.

"You got 'em for now?" Quinn asked.

"I can handle it. I'll be sure to call if we need you later," Eliot assured him.

"Oh no, you don't," Evelyn interrupted. "You're not leaving without staying for lunch, are you?"

Quinn furrowed his brow at Eliot as Evelyn disappeared into the kitchen followed by William. Eliot shrugged, his face twisted into a crooked smile.

"Hey, you're on your own," Eliot replied.

"That wasn't a question," Evelyn's voice boomed and echoed from the kitchen. Eliot chuckled.

"I guess I am," Quinn answered, one eye squinted in surrender.

"Good choice," William called from the kitchen.

Quinn sighed as he glanced from the kitchen door to Eliot and shook his head. "So, your mom…"

Eliot nodded softly with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Explains a lot," Quinn finished.

"We'll see how you feel after lunch," he teased.

"Eliot?" Evelyn stood in the doorway wiping her hands with a towel.

"Yeah?" he answered wide eyed.

"Won't your other friends be joining us? Parker and… Hardison, right?"

"Um, no, not this time. They had some business out of town."

William exited the kitchen as she frowned.

"Oh, I do hope they'll be back." She disappeared through the doorway.

"And it begins…" William began.

"It?" Quinn asked tentatively.

"When she's stressed, she cooks and can get a little obsessive," Eliot explained with an eye roll. "It's harmless, as long as you don't get in her way and DON'T, whatever you do, critique any of it."

"Got it. I'm not going to have to eat anything _weird_, am I?"

"Nah, nothing weird- though she will probably miss an ingredient somewhere that makes the food taste like cardboard. Just swallow, you'll be fine. Most of it should be edible."

"Goody," Quinn smiled sarcastically.

"So Parker and Hardison… they wouldn't be tracking Brixton, would they?" William glared at his son.

Eliot tried to stare blankly but a twitch of his nose gave away his lie.

"Dammit, boy! I don't want you all sticking your necks out for me," William hissed.

"Jesse's in a coma and _I _was arrested for it. I'm already involved and you're not in any shape to handle this alone! This is what we do," Eliot argued.

"I'm not going to be responsible for losing you twice over this," William retorted. He sighed before adding, "I don't know why I bother. You haven't listened to me in over twenty five years. You've always been stubborn as a mule."

"Wonder where I got it," Eliot smirked.

"_This_ is why I like being a loner," Quinn interjected. Silence took over the room.

"You really want to help, Dad… tell me you know something more about this guy that might help us find him before he strikes again," Eliot suggested.

"Wish I could, but I really don't know anything about Brixton. He wasn't the kind to share personal information," William answered shaking his head.

"Hopefully Parker and Hardison come up with something useful."

* * *

Wearing matching robin egg blue jumpsuits, Parker and Hardison approached Pine Dale Psychiatric. He carried a laptop bag, brushing at a string caught on his lab ID. Parker toted a briefcase, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

"Ready?" he asked her without stopping.

"Yep," she replied as she checked the snug fit of her earbud.

Hardison opened the door and led the way to the front desk. A middle-aged woman stood behind it- looking extremely frazzled.

They both held up their IDs for technical support as Hardison spoke. "Russ… this is Baley. You having some sort of computer issue?"

The woman checked their IDs hurriedly. "Sorry, yes, and it is at the WORST time."

"It looks a little crazy," Parker chimed as two attendants sprinted past them. "Group activity time?"

"No, this is called underfunded, under staffed and over flowing. We lost several appropriations due to government budget cuts- forcing us to minimize staff and even cut the patient numbers. We _always_ look like this now," the woman explained.

"Nice, never any money for services but there always seems to be several hundred thousand laying around for their annual raises, isn't there? Now _that's _a con," Hardison smirked.

"Yeah, it is. I have to get back in there. Sign in, here is the key." She handed Parker the key as Hardison signed his name on the clipboard laying on the counter. "Sixth door on the right, make sure you check in here on your way out."

"Thank you," Hardison replied as he traded Parker the pen for the key. She quickly scribbled down her alias before following him down the corridor.

Each door was labelled. The final door on the left side before they reached the server room door bared the name _RECORDS. _Parker glanced around quickly before nodding at Hardison. He stopped at the server room door ahead of her, unlocked it, and turned to watch the hall.

"All clear," he breathed.

Parker reached up and pulled one of her lock picks out of her ponytail. She dropped to her knees and made quick work of the lock on the records door. It opened easily.

"Let me know when you got it," Hardison reminded her. She smiled and disappeared through the doorway. He entered the server room.

It took Hardison less than a minute to locate the network core connection point and attach his laptop. He began scanning the local access encrypted files as he waited on Parker. The virus he had unleashed on the network would only take a second to undo.

"I think I found it," Parker called over the com.

"Anything we can use to find him?" Hardison hoped.

"Not much, looks like mostly doctor's notes. This guy was CRAAAAZY," she commented as she flipped through. "There are several mentions of attempts to flee, attacks on doctors and appeals to the President for pardons."

"This guy attacked _doctors_ and they STILL let him out?" Hardison scoffed.

Parker frowned, "It looks like the last year he was docile- even friended another patient, Larry Kershin."

"Larry… looking up dear Larry…" Hardison replied as he tapped away on the keys.

Parker flipped a page to reveal a photo in Brixton's file. "I have a fairly recent photo…"

"Send it to Eliot," Hardison ordered as he hit a few last keys.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a picture and sent the photo to Eliot.

"Oh, no…" Hardison hit his com. "Eliot? Eliot, you read me?"

Eliot blinked as his com and his phone both came to life at the table. "Excuse me," he apologized as he left his seat and headed to the bathroom. Evelyn scowled and sighed while the three men continued eating.

Once he was alone in the bathroom, Eliot grabbed his phone and cued his com. "What Hardison?"

"Parker just sent you a picture of Brixton, and I figured out why we couldn't find him," Hardison began.

"I'll get the pic to Quinn. Where is Brixton?"

"Brixton wasn't released because he was better. The funding to this place has dropped so far they had to decrease the head count. All patients who were physically able to be on their own- regardless of issues- were released."

"Is there a location coming?" Eliot rumbled.

"Parker found Brixton friended another patient, Larry Kershin, who was ALSO scheduled to be released with him."

"Scheduled? You mean he wasn't released?" Parker asked.

"Not in the regular sense. He died a couple of days before the release. The death certificate was never officially filed. His body was claimed- but he didn't have any family…"

"Hardison…" Eliot growled, losing patience.

"Kershin's got credit cards, logged time at a library computer, cell phone plans and more from the last two years. Pretty active for a dead guy."

"So Brixton has been masquerading as Kershin since his release," Parker inferred.

"Probably friended him to have the access, kills him, and just waits," Eliot explained.

"That is just wrong," Hardison groaned.

"Yeah… so did you find him or not?" Eliot demanded.

"Kershin's credit card paid for a week's stay at a motel about ten minutes out of town. I'm texting you the address."

"Think it's time I introduced myself," Eliot sneered.

"Be careful, man."

"Once I find him, I don't plan on it."

"Let's wrap up, Parker," Hardison suggested.

"Be out in ten seconds," she answered.

* * *

Eliot rejoined the meal. Everyone watched him expectantly but he stayed silent as he retook his seat.

"Everything okay?" Evelyn asked.

"Fine, Mom, just fine," he answered.

She twitched her bottom lip, knowing he lied, but her better judgment decided to let it go.

"Dillon, you need more potato, honey?" she redirected. The response came in an undecipherable mutter- prompting a quick lesson on polite conversation rules.

Quinn took advantage of the distraction to quiz Eliot next to him. "So what did they find?" he whispered.

"Picture is in your phone- and got a motel room," Eliot breathed back.

"Guess I'll be staying a little longer?"

"I know, not real exciting."

"No one yelling at me, shooting at me… I'd say this is easy money," Quinn smiled.

"You're bored senseless. Hopefully I can find this guy soon and let you find something _exciting _to do."

'"Appreciate it," Quinn laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

The motel Brixton called temporary home lay in the trees just outside the city. A strip of rooms ran away from the office on one end and wrapped around running back on the other. As Eliot pulled his mom's sedan into the front lot, he noticed the rooms were all even numbered. Odd number rooms ran along the rear of the building. One car sat in the front lot outside room number eight, a second car sat outside the office. He pulled into the visitor space near the office and took a deep breath.

_You can do this_, he thought. He opened the door and made his way into the office.

A little old man sat behind the counter, his eyes glued to a television on the back wall. Even after Eliot reached the counter, the man's eyes didn't waver from the screen.

"Room is fifty dollars a night. Maid service is at 10 am; use the sign if you don't want them in the room. No cable," the man rambled.

"Sounds fair, one night," Eliot replied as he removed a fifty from his wallet.

A palm reached out to Eliot, who laid the bill across it. The program went to commercial allowing the man a few minutes to focus elsewhere. As the old man checked the watermarks in the bill, Eliot took a moment to survey the counter. A register lay in front of him. Two names were on it, each with a number in a circle next to it. The first name belonged to a woman, an eight in the circle next to it. The second name was L. Kershin- a three in the circle next to it.

"Good bill, you have one room, one night," the man stated. Eliot heard the program return- _Matlock_. The old man was immediately riveted back on the TV.

"Thank you…" Eliot began.

"Sign register, we have most rooms empty if you have a preference…" the man explained, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Five would be nice, kind of a lucky number," Eliot answered.

"Five it is. Put it in a circle by your name." The man reached up, pulled the key off the wall and handed it to Eliot without missing a moment of the program.

"Thanks again," Eliot repeated as he grasped the keys tightly and exited the office.

As Eliot climbed back into the car, he thought about the old man. It was unlikely he could provide any information about Brixton. He never took his eyes off the back wall. He most likely never looked too close at Brixton, but it also meant he'd know very little about Eliot and his visit as well.

Eliot pulled around the backside of the motel. The lot was empty. A drained swimming pool and a vine covered empty playground were the only structures in sight. No one would see him.

_Perfect_, he thought. He parked in the slot designated five and approached the door to room three.

"Ready or not," he growled as he kicked open the door. It swung violently open and shuddered on the way back to the frame. Eliot caught it and took one last glance around before entering.

The room was small, a large bedroom with a small bathroom attached. He could count the furniture on one hand- bed, nightstand, chair and an armoire. A large painting hung on the outer bathroom wall over the bedside. Brixton had one suitcase next to the chair. Eliot knew no matter how trained and careful, Brixton was bound to have left some sort of clue- if Eliot was clever enough to find it.

He exhaled loudly and made his way to the bed. The pillows, blankets and mattress flipped easily. Coming up empty-handed, Eliot snorted his disgust before tossing the mattress back on the frame to allow himself room to continue searching.

He continued his thorough search- dissecting the nightstand, the armoire, chair, suitcase and bathroom. The room was void of clues. Eliot kicked the doorframe as the mat pulled up to reveal nothing.

"Dammit," he hissed, turning to look out over the tossed room. He'd left nothing unturned- save the painting. His bottom lip crawled up, scrunching his top lip. A tilt of his head and he made his way over.

The painting hung on a nail, the top of the frame revealing the telltale gap to the wall. Eliot ran his fingers down the side of the frame. A smaller gap existed on the bottom of the frame. Something was preventing the frame base from pushing flush to the wall. He grabbed the sides, unhooked the painting and tossed the art face down onto the mattress.

A large manila envelope was taped to the back of the painting. A smile snuck across Eliot's lips as he tore the envelope free. He dumped the contents on the bed. Several papers scattered across the space. Eliot picked up a photo. It showed several young soldiers. He recognized his father's face. The man was no more than 23 years of age in the photo, but there was no mistake. Eliot assumed the rest of the fresh faced dog tags were the men on the team. He let the photo fall from his fingers as he scooped up a list of names. Each name was scratched out, save one- William Spencer.

He glanced down at several news clippings that were scattered in the mess. Eliot spread them out. Each described a death or group of deaths- drowning, car accident, mugging… His eyes scanned the victims' names; they matched the names on the list in his hand. Nearly every victim was joined in tragedy by a spouse, child or other family. Brixton wasn't settling for the soldiers in his unit- he was taking their families as well.

"Hardison," Eliot cued his com.

"Yeah, find something?" Hardison replied.

"Need you to check some names," Eliot answered as he located several of the names in the articles.

"Ready," Hardison spoke as he stretched his fingers over his tablet keyboard. Parker sat beside him driving, disregarding all traffic laws to get them back to Oklahoma City.

"Charlie Bennet, Franklin Keenz, Jimmy Tanner, George Carter and Thomas Jackson… pretty sure that's the men in Dad's unit. Need you to check dead or alive and cause of death…"

"Give me a minute…" Hardison's fingers flew across the keyboard as he hunted the information for Eliot.

As he waited on Hardison, Eliot continued flipping through the news clippings.

A minute later Hardison responded. "Eliot, they're all dead. Dead, dead and some pretty nasty stuff too. Only one died alone; most died with their families. I am NOT feeling good about this."

"Yeah, got it," Eliot swallowed. One piece of paper lay face down. He dropped the list of names and picked up the lone page. The paper was a bill of sale from a gun shop, a handgun… the name on the purchaser line made him choke- William Spencer. His eyes grew wide as his pulse raced. He hit his com.

"Quinn!? Quinn! Dammit, Quinn, you better have turned it on!"

* * *

Quinn adjusted the earbud Eliot had given him. He still couldn't get used to the team approach. Parker and Hardison's constant chatter ground his mind. He was grateful for the standby mode which essentially allowed him to mute the voices unless necessary. Eliot had called it a sanity button- he couldn't agree more. Knowing the banter was not going to reach his ear, but that necessary connection would be restored with a simple vocal command left Quinn content. This job was out of his realm. He had played delivery boy, even bodyguard, but it was normally a criminal mastermind- someone who knew the dangers and was not so skittish about weapons. Keeping watch over an elderly suburban couple and a young kid felt a waste of his talents and left him uncomfortable.

As the Spencers went about cleaning up the overabundance of food, Quinn began circling the house. The home was fairly secluded, making it both easier and harder to defend. A wide open front yard containing a long driveway gave him clear sightlines to the road. Frontal assaults would prove difficult for any attacker. Unfortunately, the backyard was completely enclosed by dense tree lines. It wasn't too difficult for anyone to sneak into those trees and quickly approach the house. Quinn wondered a moment how people could live every day in that type of environment. The lack of security would leave him unable to sleep. How such a place and such people produced someone with the awareness and sense of Eliot Spencer astounded him.

Dillon slunk out of the kitchen, drawing Quinn's eyes a moment. The boy plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. Quinn winced at the sound before continuing his rotation. A hall ran alongside the kitchen toward the garage. The clatter of dishes let Quinn know William and Evelyn were still cleaning up. He snickered as he crossed the doorway. Somehow he felt William had the short straw. This job would be considered dangerous and crazy, but dealing with a family day in and day out- that was a difficulty he could never fathom.

_CRASH!_

A shriek emanated from the kitchen. Quinn turned on a dime, breaking for the kitchen doorway as fast as he could run.

He saw Dillon at alert on the couch as he approached. His finger rose to his lips, his other hand gently motioned Dillon to get down. The boy crawled down between the couch and coffee table.

Quinn slid up tight to the door frame. A quick, deep breath passed his lips. His eyes rolled to the side as he slowly peered around the frame into the kitchen.

"Move! I'll get it. I dropped it, I'll clean it up," William growled. He stood a few feet inside the door, a wad of paper towels in his hand.

"No, I got it. You're not doing anything strenuous," Evelyn replied. She was down on her hands and knees scrubbing a gravy spill off the tile floor.

"It's food, how strenuous can it be?" he rumbled.

"Everything okay in here?" Quinn asked as he entered.

"An antique baking dish served its last, but we're fine," William replied.

"Was quite the ruckus." Quinn bit his lip as he looked around.

"It was her mother's dish. I'll be working that one off," William explained.

"Ah." It still didn't make full sense but Quinn decided the tension was not worth the explanation.

"He scared me is all," Evelyn retorted as she stood up.

A faint sound caught Quinn's ear. He strained to listen as the couple continued their banter.

"Shh," he finally insisted.

"What is it?" William asked.

Quinn shook his head quietly and tiptoed to the edge of the doorframe nearest the garage. He waved them toward the back wall furthest from the door.

William grabbed Evelyn's shoulders, herding her to the corner near the sink, out of direct sight line of the door. He had her crouch as small as she could behind him. He stood ready, arming himself with a kitchen knife.

The sound of footsteps, slow and methodical, approached the kitchen. Quinn listened closely. No one else could hear them… that he knew. It had taken him years to learn that sound. These steps were hidden well, but he could pick out details. The long stride told him he was dealing with a tall individual. A heavier impact on the back of the foot suggested male.

After a quick breath, Quinn rolled around the doorframe, grabbing the figure creeping past the door. He grasped the arm holding a gun, slamming it against the wall.

Brixton swallowed as his arm hit the wall. His eyes shot toward the aggressor. The tall, long haired blonde man pinning his arm was unfamiliar to him. He snorted his disgust at this fly in his ointment.

"Mistake," Brixton growled. "You should have stayed out of this."

"What can I say? I like trouble," Quinn sassed. He flashed Brixton a toothy smile.

Brixton sighed, pulling his head back. Before Quinn could react, Brixton drove the crown of his head forward into the center of Quinn's forehead. Quinn stumbled back into the doorframe, shaking his head.

"Quinn?" Dillon's voice squeaked in fear from his vantage in the living room.

A snicker escaped Brixton's lips as he aimed the gun toward the living room.

"Stay down!" Quinn ordered. His head pounded and his watery eyes blurred. He dove on Brixton, struggling for the gun.

Both men rolled, fighting and clawing over the firearm. Brixton heard William's steps coming across the kitchen. He drove one elbow into Quinn's kidney. Quinn involuntarily cringed in pain, losing his grip. Brixton pushed off the floor, bounding back on his feet as William appeared.

"Spencer… hiding behind bodyguards now?" Brixton taunted.

"At least I don't try to pretend I'm tough by attacking women and children," William retorted.

Brixton's anger piqued. He leveled his aim at William's chest.

"Scared… or too weak to do it yourself?" William demanded.

An angry roar erupted from Brixton's chest. He began to pull the trigger. Neither man noticed Quinn lying beneath them. He swung his leg into Brixton's ankle. Brixton's body jerked, pulling his whole body away. His gun arm fell as the trigger clicked. The bullet tore through the air, searing Quinn's arm en route to the floor. Quinn grabbed his arm in pain.

William began to engage the stumbling Brixton. As his plan continued to unravel, Brixton had a moment of fear strike. He bolted down the hallway back the way he had come. After a step over Quinn, William took off after him.

Evelyn crept around the frame when she heard William's truck fire up and tear out of the drive. She found Quinn lying in the hall, cradling his arm.

"You need a doctor," she cried.

"No, it's just a graze," he answered.

She looked around, clearly in shock. "Where's William?"

"I'm pretty sure he went after Brixton."

"Grandma?" Dillon approached, shaking.

"Honey, come here," Evelyn grabbed Dillon in a tight hug. "My brave boy, help me get some medical supplies to patch up Quinn here." She and Dillon made their way to the bathroom.

"Quinn!? Quinn!" Eliot's voice burst through the com in Quinn's ear.

"I hear you," Quinn responded.

"Brixton's got a gun, I repeat…" Eliot began.

"Yeah, I know. He already got me.

"WHAT?!"

"He broke in already… winged me, a scratch really."

"Did he…?"

"No, everybody else is okay," Quinn swallowed. Evelyn and Dillon returned with the supplies. She pushed Quinn's hand aside and began washing the blood off.

"You chased him off?" Eliot asked.

"I had help, your dad," Quinn admitted as Evelyn squeezed a gauze pad against the scratch. "Ow, I knew I should have asked for more money."

Eliot sighed, "Tell him I'll be right there."

"Uh, that could be a problem."

"Quinn," Eliot rumbled.

"He went after Brixton."

"You didn't stop him?!"

"I was shot!"

"You said it was a scratch!"

"Sorry, it was a little more than that."

"He's going to get himself killed. Where did they go?" Eliot demanded.

"You know I forgot to write that down as I tried not to bleed all over your mom's hall rug!"

"Your dad have GPS?" Hardison's voice cut into the coms. He still sat with his tablet in his lap.

"He barely trusts maps and just started using the television. That truck is bare bones. He'd have crank windows if he could get them anymore," Eliot explained.

"So we can't track him," Quinn sighed.

"I would say call him, but he wouldn't answer anyway," Evelyn sniffed as she wrapped tape around Quinn's arm.

"Call?" Eliot frowned.

"Eliot wants to know what you mean," Quinn told her.

"I made him get one of those pay as you go cell phones to keep in the glove box for emergencies. He hates it, so he won't answer it," she explained.

"Get me that number and I can track that baby," Hardison chimed.

"What's the number?" Quinn asked.

"Uh, 555-9155," Evelyn recited.

"Find it, Hardison- NOW!" Eliot ordered.

"You'll have it the nanosecond I do," Hardison answered.


	5. Chapter 5

Brixton had the head start and also the advantage of William having to take his truck down the long driveway and around the neighborhood. William's advantage was his knowledge of the roads and his ability to recognize a car that didn't belong. He knew every car in every garage, every commuter. This was his neighborhood. No matter how much he had tried to hide over the last forty five years - he couldn't get away from his training. A small voice in his head reminded him - Eliot would be the same way. He hated to admit it, but the reflection was unmistakable. His son would find him; he just hoped the danger would be over by then.

It took him five minutes to locate Brixton racing through the streets. The car maintained its lead but did not attempt to lose him. Brixton wanted William to be able to follow, and William was happy to oblige.

"Where are you going?" William whispered as he watched the car turn left, heading out into the countryside.

A muffled ringing echoed in the truck cab. William frowned as he glanced around for the cause. His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he realized where it was coming from - the glove box. He reached over, opened the box, removed the phone and closed the box back up. His left hand hit the window button in the car door. After a few seconds, the window had opened over halfway.

"Not this time, boy," he sighed as he threw the still ringing phone out the window. It hit the pavement - bouncing and shattering into pieces. William raised the window and clutched the steering wheel firmly. "I'm going to finish this."

* * *

"Tracking, give it a couple seconds…" Hardison advised. His tablet screen zoomed in on a map of Oklahoma as he tapped his finger on the corner of it.

Eliot's teeth clenched, his head bobbed angrily as he waited. "Anytime, Hardison," he growled.

"A couple seconds."

"You already said that!"

"Three… uh oh," Hardison swallowed as the screen blanked and flashed no signal.

"Uh oh?" Parker asked as she leaned over to see the screen.

"I lost it," Hardison tapped the screen. "He's gone."

"What do you mean you _lost _it?" Eliot demanded angrily.

"I mean I lost it. The signal disappeared."

Quinn sighed at the set back. He knew Eliot would never forgive him if everything went bad.

Evelyn heard the sigh. "That isn't good, is it?"

"Grandma, he's not answering. It goes to voicemail," Dillon frowned.

She turned to see him standing with the receiver in his hand. "You tried to call him?" she breathed. He nodded as she replied, "Oh, honey."

"Why the hell did you lose him?" Eliot hissed.

"He was tipped off," Quinn interrupted.

"Tipped off?" Eliot growled.

"Kid here called the old man," Quinn explained.

"Explains why the signal was so easy to catch," Hardison thought out loud.

"He must have disabled it," Parker offered.

"Disabled? Killed it is more like it," Eliot muttered. "Stubborn…"

"Surprise, your dad is as stubborn as you are. Why am I not surprised?" Quinn snipped.

"How close did you get?" Eliot growled.

"Somewhere two miles west of the house," Hardison answered flatly.

"Could be four or more by now," Parker sighed.

"What the hell is west?" Eliot grumbled.

"Subdivision, subdivision… another subdivision…" Hardison rambled. "Lots of nothing."

"Brixton's been locked up for forty years. Anything there back then?" Eliot asked.

"How the hell would I know? Do I look like I'm forty?" Hardison sassed. "You're from here, shouldn't you know?"

"I haven't lived here in over twenty years… and it wasn't like I wanted to remember the place," Eliot sniped back.

Hardison tapped furiously on the screen. "Alright, alright… based on some of the old maps I found online, it looks like the area used to be farmland."

"Not really helpful," Parker twisted her lip.

"Lots of farms, I don't think…" Hardison paused. "Wait, Eliot, about twenty miles west… there used to be a military boot camp. It was shut down in the early 70's and changed over to a summer camp for kids."

"Would he go there?" Parker asked.

"It's off season, the camp is empty," Hardison argued.

"That has to be it," Eliot decided.

"You're sure?"

"We haven't got time for it not to be."

"So you're going to go after a guy who wants you dead, in a location of his choosing? And I have to stay here?" Quinn griped.

Evelyn stared at him. Her shock had leveled off enough for her to fully grasp the events around her. She grabbed Quinn's shirt at the shoulders, lifting his torso off the ground.

"Eliot, don't you dare! I am not going to lose my entire family , do you hear me?" she shouted.

Quinn cringed at the volume of her voice. "He can hear you!"

She released his shirt, allowing him to fall back. "I can't lose all of them. Eliot… you bring him home." Her eyes and voice reflected the fear and tears.

Eliot swallowed. "I intend to…"

"He will," Quinn told her. She nodded.

"We'll be there as soon as we can," Hardison assured Eliot.

"Luck," Quinn offered.

"Be careful," Hardison added.

* * *

Pulling into the lot outside a cluster of buildings, William spotted Brixton's car. It was parked wildly outside the larger of the buildings. He glanced up at the door to the building as he pulled alongside the car and parked. The door was busted open. Brixton was improvising - the wild chase, the parking job and unsubtle entry pointed to a disorganized retreat. They had managed to disrupt Brixton's planning, but William couldn't determine if that was good or bad.

The large building looked like a meeting cabin. A broad stairway led up to the doors. It was likely there would be few walls or large furniture pieces for cover. Brixton was armed and inside - once again taking the advantage. William knew he couldn't walk in the front door, and so did Brixton. He had to find another entry point, and distract his old comrade.

William crept out of the truck, his front passenger side corner facing the building. He reached into the storage bin in the bed. He opened his tackle box and removed a spool of fishing line. After he closed the box, he took a breath and glanced around. Three smaller buildings lined the lot. He made his way to the furthest outer building.

Each of the three smaller buildings was at ground level, allowing William to peer inside. The first was full of desks, an office of some sort. Second building appeared to be the staff bunk house, while the third was open space. There were no signs of entry in any of them, reassuring William of his mild security hiding behind them.

A large fire pit, a distance behind the second and third buildings, drew his attention. He snuck over, kicking the ashes to reveal the charred remains of several logs. William dropped down into a crouch position as he picked up several log chunks one by one, popping them into the air like a pitcher's sandbag until he found two with decent weight. He shoved his choice picks into his pockets and made his way back to the third building.

From the rear corner of the building, he had a clear view of the larger building. Windows ran the length of it; one emergency exit door with four stairs was set in the rear - opposite his position. Two ways in: front or back door. Brixton would be able to see his approach and gun him down. He needed to level the field in order to access the building alive.

William selected one of the windows two thirds of the way down the building's side from his position. He clutched one of the charred log clumps tightly. After a quick and silent prayer, he let the chunk fly.

It carried across the expanse and collided with the window perfectly dead center, but failed to break the glass. The weight kept his aim true but was unable to hold the momentum to penetrate the glass barrier.

"Dammit," he muttered. As he readied a second throw, two quick successive shots shattered through the window. The glass showered across the expanse.

"Still got the aim, but as always, White Hat… you lack the nerve to follow through!" Brixton shouted, entering the empty window frame.

"I follow through when the job is justified. You forget who gave us our orders," William responded, "and it was _never _you."

Brixton hissed and fired several wild shots in the direction of William's voice. William took cover round the corner of the building. The hail of bullets halted. Several echoed clicks filled the void, the gun was empty.

William knew he had only moments before the gun was reloaded - once again cutting him off. He swung around the corner, took one survey of the scene and pulled the remaining log chunk from his pocket. Brixton watched the gun in his hand as he reached for ammo. William hurled the log with all his might. The charred chunk flew straight. As the projectile neared the window, Brixton glanced out. He spotted the threat, pulling his head out of the path ahead of the impact. His quick move prevented a direct hit, but the proximity of the log to his face allowed the trail of ash to enter his eyes and nose. He dropped the gun, rubbing his eyes and waving the loose ash away as he coughed.

It was the only chance and William took it. With Brixton temporarily blinded and disarmed, William ran full speed for the emergency exit door. As his feet mounted the stairs, he threw his shoulder in front as a battering ram. The simple door offered minimal resistance. He stumbled a few steps before gaining control. The door wasn't fortified like he had expected but still caused a throbbing in his shoulder.

"That didn't use to hurt so much," he muttered as he rubbed the sore shoulder.

"You didn't use to let yourself go," Brixton snickered. He was standing up after retrieving his gun. His eyes were watery but open as he slid the empty firearm into the rear waistband of his pants. He stood in a corridor between the windows and a long cart with folded up tables running length-wise through the room. William was standing on a slightly raised platform stage that covered the entire end of the building. A simple podium, table and row of flags were the only décor in sight.

"Look at yourself, Will. You've let age take over. I say about thirty pounds you've added, am I right? You would never be able to pass fitness courses now - if I gave you the day," Brixton harassed as he slowly approached.

"Military doesn't control my life anymore, _I _do, and I'm more than ready to end this. No more games, no more hiding and going after my kids. I'm gonna handle this," William roared.

"You're going to handle this?" Brixton cackled. "Believe me, Will, you are _not_ ready for me."

"Over forty years ago… and all you can think about is killing me and my family?"

"Did you know, Will, that the Rangers adopted an official creed after we were cast out? I rather like it. May have prevented our problem had it been put into words earlier. My particular favorite lines are

_'Never shall I fail my comrades…_

_ Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country._

_ I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained _

_ and will fight with all my might._

_ Surrender is not a Ranger word…_

_ Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the _

_ Ranger objective and complete the mission,_

_ though I be the lone survivor.'_

Surrender is not a Ranger word. Sadly I seem to have led a team of Rangers in name but not in heart."

"It is not surrender when you return to the judgment of your own country. And I _do_ know the Creed, and can't say I'm surprised that you skipped this:

_'I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy_

_ and under __no__ circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.'_"

"You _LEFT _me to stand alone!" Brixton hissed.

"It was a court martial! Your superiors were not the enemy. Your action led us all to embarrass ourselves and our country. I have had to live with that every day, and watch it tear things away from me as well."

"Well, let me help. I'll kill you and let your kids join you. Oh, and that blonde pissant- care to give me his name? I promise I'll make it quick."

William's eyes narrowed.

"No?" Brixton grinned as he slowly finished his approach. "I'll find him anyway."

"You can't win, you know. Cowardice can win battles but never the war."

Brixton laughed, "Naïve dreamer, White Hat. You're the last battle in this war. It's over. You can't win because you haven't got what it takes. Your son did - you should have read some of his files, entertaining, but he's cursed with that Spencer DNA. Your stubborn refusal to do what is necessary when those above refuse to see the danger, such a waste. I admit I had mixed feelings about killing your boy. Thought the FBI would handle that, too bad for him."

"No one has the right to make that call, Brixton, not me and certainly not you. While I don't deny I've cursed my son, it isn't a weakness and given the chance, I would dare say he is the man you and I could only hope to one day have been."

The two men stood nose to nose.

"I'll find out for myself, but I think I'll finish the date I started with your daughter first," Brixton snickered.

William swung his fist, landing a hard hit to Brixton's jaw and twisting the man's upper body away. His anger rode his breath in huffs.

Brixton erupted in laughter as he pulled himself straight once more.

"Finally, a little backbone!" he spit the blood from his mouth and returned his own swing into William's diaphragm. The air rushed out of his lungs… his chest tightened as he doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

"Well, that weight doesn't seem to offer any more cushion, so tell me, how is this worth it?" Brixton hounded.

William coughed, "I have something worth fighting for… that's what it's worth."

The sound of tires throwing gravel echoed to their ears.

"Something to fight for… like your son out there rushing into danger for a man who couldn't even be honest with him?" Brixton crowed.

He knew Brixton was right, but William couldn't help himself. He let his eyes flash to the door just a fraction of a second until he could see Eliot's shadow cast on the frosted window, and then returned them to his opponent. That moment of distraction was all Brixton wanted. William felt an impact at his ankle, knocking his leg loose and forcing him to stumble forward, still half hunched over trying to breathe. He saw a flash of Brixton's sleeve before a sharp pain surged out from his nose. His knees buckled and dropped beneath him. The room went black and silent.

"Dad!" Eliot's pained shout echoed through the room as he saw his father's head hit the stage floor. He stood a couple steps in the door. He stared at the man who had been a thorn in his side for two days. The man was seventy but looked far younger. His tall frame was solidly built and toned.

"Eliot… such a pleasant surprise," both slowly approached one another, "I thought I'd have to track you down. Thank you for making it easier. Now I'll at least get the satisfaction of your father seeing your corpse before he dies."

"Bring it," Eliot growled as he raised his loosened fists.

Brixton grinned, "Looked forward to this."

He swung a right at Eliot's jawline, who quickly bent back ducking the shot. Eliot threw a light swing, hampered by his awkward laid back position that hit the man's left lower ribs. His opponent pulled back half a step to check the damage as Eliot stood full up.

"Ooo… first strike, but weak - not even a crack. I'm not sure it will even bruise," Brixton teased as Eliot snorted.

Eliot gave charge throwing several swings at Brixton's torso. Most of his blows were blocked before Brixton gave up defense, choosing to plant the heel of his palm through Eliot's upper jaw and nose. Both stepped back to assess their injuries - broken ribs for Brixton, a broken nose and bloody lip for Eliot.

"I'll give you that, boy," Brixton huffed as he fingered his broken ribs. "You aren't afraid of your anger… not like your father. Makes you a better soldier, yet you're still lacking."

Eliot snorted again, "I'm just warming up." He swiped his sleeve across his face, clearing some of the blood for a few moments.

A smile crept across Brixton's lips, curling at one end. His fingers danced at his sides as he stepped confidently forward toward Eliot's angry form.

An arm length separated the two determined soldiers. Neither moved, not wanting to give any warning to the other. Eliot's arms held position partially raised, the hands in loose fists. Brixton's arms matched position, but his fingers remained loose and straightened. The weak stance of the hands concerned Eliot. His opponent was an Army Ranger who had killed his entire former unit. The oversight in stance had to have meaning.

"Scared… Spencer," Brixton taunted.

'Are you?" Eliot deflected, looking for any tell or sign of the man's plan.

Brixton's head tilted slowly to the side before he let out a hiss and lunged forward. Another sound caught Eliot's ear at the same moment - a metallic sound rubbing against a non-metallic surface. He couldn't take time to think about it before reacting. Brixton's arm came at his chest. Eliot brought both his arms up, one hand drove up at Brixton's wrist to deflect the attack, while the other hand deflected the swing off to Eliot's side. The reaction was enough; Brixton recoiled, allowing Eliot to see the object now in the man's hand. His mysterious metal sound made sense. Brixton's sleeve had concealed a sheath. He now held a six inch blade custom combat knife. The tip hooked and the blade double sided.

Brixton glanced at Eliot's alert expression. "Oh, you didn't count on me having anything beyond the gun, did you?" he laughed, "Surprise."

Eliot took a half step back to allow himself more warning.

"You're scared now, aren't you, boy?" Brixton howled with glee. He lunged again, aiming at Eliot's abdomen. The latter crossed his wrists and brought them down hard on Brixton's hands, knocking away the strike. Brixton spun the arm around arcing back to strike at Eliot's chest once again. Eliot deflected the attack up and to his side.

"Effective, I knew you would be interesting to kill at least," Brixton remarked. He stood with the knife hilt firmly back in the webbing of his hand. Once more he tilted his head slightly and lunged.

The knife soared in the direction of the abdomen. Eliot locked his wrists and swung down again. He hit Brixton's wrist, carrying the man's lunge downward.

Brixton grinned as Eliot played into the plan. His fingers loosened on the hilt. His pinkie finger twirled the butt end, spinning the knife 180 degrees. The hilt stuck out between his thumb and index finger while the blade jutted out of the bottom of his fist. He allowed Eliot's momentum to enhance the speed and strength of his arm as he shoved the knife down and sideways - finding flesh.

Eliot's jaw dropped in a silent scream of pain as the blade found its target. Brixton drove the blade all the way to the hilt, the hooked end burst out the other side of Eliot's left knee. The blade sliced through the joint, shredding ACL, nerves and muscle, chipping bone. Every nerve cried in agony. Eliot pulled back, his right leg stepped back toward the middle of the room. His left leg locked with the blade through the joint. The inability to bend his knee caused him to lose his balance. His left side dropped; the floor met his rear with a harsh crunch. New pain signals roared up his spine and laid Eliot out flat.

"Ah, Eliot… you've got heart for this, but you still lack the last element to be the perfect soldier," Brixton sighed. "You narrow your mind to the darker realm. I was honest with you about the fact that I would kill you. Naturally you defend yourself, but you assume each strike to be a kill shot. You fail to consider that I would aim to kill you slowly. Your assumption that by keeping me from a fatal strike, you are safe… THAT is your mistake."

Eliot clenched his teeth to rein in his pain. He bounced the back of his head against the wood floor to temper the chaos of signals running through his brain. His eyes barely registered the view in front of him. The cart of tables was half an arm's reach off his left shoulder; the wood ceiling twelve feet above him. Brixton was talking near his feet, but the blurry, watery eyes of confused pain refused to focus.

He reached his left hand out to the railing at the end of the cart. After a couple fumbled grasps, his fingers found the metal and gripped firmly. Eliot pulled himself forward to a seated position. His leg throbbed, causing him to wince a moment.

Brixton sighed and shook his head. "Ah, boy," he bashed his right knee toward Eliot's face. Eliot recognized the shape coming toward him and dropped back out of the shot.

"Slow learning curve, boy," Brixton lectured. He grinned as he replaced his right leg on the ground. His left immediately rose. The heel fell like a weight as it struck down onto Eliot's right hand lying on the floor. Brixton dug in, pivoting the heel from side to side – crushing the fingers trapped beneath.

"Gah!" Eliot cried as he threw his left arm across himself, his fingers desperately clawing at Brixton's boot.

"Dark…" Brixton grinned. He glanced down at the fingers trying to pry his boot off. He heard the labored breathing of the man beneath him.

Eliot heaved a sigh as he continued to claw at the boot. He could hear the glee-filled breaths of Brixton standing over his right thigh. His bleeding, throbbing left knee prevented most of the range of motion he held in his right leg. Brixton's words echoed in his head. A half snort/half sigh escaped his lips as he tugged in vain.

"Boy," Brixton began.

"Grrr…" Eliot growled as he let go of the boot, curled his left arm and drove his elbow full force into the inner thigh of his opponent, as close to the abdomen as he could reach.

Brixton staggered back several steps, doubling over in shocked pain. Eliot lay back, clutching the now free right hand to his chest. Several of the fingers were broken, at least one was dislocated.

"Well done…" Brixton choked. "That was better. Might have been some hope for you yet… too bad we'll never know." He straightened up; his right hand removed the gun from his rear waistband.

Eliot looked around for any kind of aid or weapon. The only thing in his reach was the table cart. He slapped his left hand at the wheel - unlocking the brake – keeping his eyes focused up at Brixton loading the gun.

"You know, I spent over ten years planning every detail of this campaign. So many moving parts, so many possibilities – it was all perfect. The only problem was always you, Eliot. Every person I killed was predictable. You weren't. I couldn't be sure you would come home – or even that you would answer the phone when your father entered the hospital. I had plans in place and took a chance. You came running… and I was able to follow my plan." He finished loading the gun and began slowly pacing toward Eliot.

Eliot clenched his teeth in preparation of the pain as he sat up. He pressed his palms into the floor, his right hand screamed in pain. His eyes winced a moment before he began dragging himself backward toward the other end of the cart. Each "step" of his right hand caused more pain, as did each catch of the heel of his left foot on the floor.

"I admit, I did wrestle with the need to kill you," Brixton continued. "I read up on you… I confess to a small amount of pride. Your sister was a fun distraction, and I knew the charges would never stick. I _DID _expect the FBI to keep you busy for longer. That does intrigue me and under different circumstances I would love to have you regale me with how you did it. Instead, I'll live with the curiosity and you…well…" He brought the gun up, aiming for Eliot's face.

Brixton kept half a step out of Eliot's kick range, yet his position drew him too close for the table cart to be an effective weapon. The cart's arc time to reach Brixton was longer than Brixton's trigger pull time requirement. Eliot found himself out of options and out of time - staring down a gun barrel. A slim shot was better than none. His eyes narrowed as Eliot reached his left hand back and slapped the brake on the wheel of the cart. He readied himself for the painful shove he would have to make.

Unfortunately to Eliot's chagrin, Brixton read his mind perfectly. As Eliot began to rise off the floor to throw his shoulder into the cart, Brixton drove his right boot hard into the hilt of the knife still buried in Eliot's knee. The hilt end of the blade tore further into the back of the joint. The tip end of the blade ripped toward the kneecap.

"Agh," Eliot swallowed the scream that tried to burst from his chest, creating a small cry that melded into a prolonged growling howl. He used every ounce of fight to battle his body's instinct – the one urging him to curl up in the fetal position, grabbing his injured knee.

"Thank you, Eliot, for making this an almost worthy skirmish. I will relish the look on your father's face when he sees what I did to you… right before I kill him." Brixton stepped back once more and steadied his arm. Eliot took a deep breath and stared toward the floor. "All that's left for you, boy, is to say good night."

"Good NIGHT!" a snarl echoed in the room as Brixton pulled the trigger.

Eliot heard a crack and several impact sounds surrounding the shot. His eyes immediately rolled to the ceiling to follow the last and closest of the sounds. A bullet hole sprinkled dust into the air from the ceiling over his head. The breath he had been holding released. He allowed his eyes to drop back to the floor. The gun lay between his feet. Brixton lay sprawled face down on the floor half a step away from him. Eliot allowed his eyes to continue surveying. Standing just behind Brixton's previous position was a familiar silhouette.

William stood slightly hunched, his nose dripped blood down his lip and his breath came heaving. He held a large circular, metal object in his hands. It took Eliot a moment to identify it. The object was an indoor flag stand base. Eliot's eyes darted to the stage corner at the end of the room. The camp flag lay haphazardly on the floor. The man allowed the flag stand to drop out of his hands as he shambled along on his bum ankle to kneel next to his son. As he approached, Eliot took stock of himself. His broken nose swelled and collected with the blood from his lip - creating a trickle that had begun to drip off his chin onto his shirt. The index finger on his right hand was the only fully functioning finger on it. Pain ran through his lower back and down both thighs from his abrupt meeting with the floor. Finally, his knee… the joint was torn to pieces. His trip across the floor had created a train of blood running from the blood soaked thigh all the way back to the end of the cart.

William stared at Eliot a moment as he knelt. His arms reached out cautiously, bringing Eliot's head and shoulders against his chest in a gentle hug. Eliot twisted his lip and brow uncomfortably.

"Dad, what is…"

"Thank you," William replied as he released the hug. His son nodded slowly in acknowledgement. As William pulled his arms back, he took a moment to lightly slap his left fingers against Eliot's right temple.

Eliot threw the bottom of his right palm against the temple indignantly. "Dammit, Dad! What the hell?" he demanded.

"That's for nearly getting yourself killed coming here after me," William explained.

Squealing tires outside ceased their conversation.

"About time…" Eliot muttered.

"Your missing friends?"

"Yeah."

The front door popped open allowing Parker and Hardison to enter. Both approached the Spencers carefully.

"Looks like we missed out," Hardison smirked.

"Here," William reached into his pocket and removed the fishing line. "I didn't use it for what I thought… might as well use it now."

Parker grinned, grabbed the line and proceeded to wrap up Brixton's limp form.

"Now you…" William looked at Eliot. He grasped the bottom hem of his shirt and began tearing a strip off.

"Damn, man, you should get that out," Hardison remarked as he reached toward the knife.

"DON'T touch it!" Eliot growled. "I swear, Hardison, I will kill you as S-L-O-W-L-Y AND P-A-I-N-F-U-L-L-Y as possible."

Hardison backed away, wide-eyed. "What? Touchy, touchy, man, I've seen you shrug off getting shot before. This is just a knife."

"A bullet is nothing," William interrupted. "The speed and heat keep it clean. Adrenaline kicks in and you don't feel much past the initial shock. Bullets tend to have a smaller surface area, once it stops moving… well, that's it. It doesn't have the reach to harm much more. This… this is different. A knife has a larger surface area and when placed in the right location, such as this one, will continue to cause damage long after the initial thrust. Every move, every pulse of blood… everything can shift that blade - tearing new areas of flesh and muscle. Essentially continuing to stab over and over again."

Hardison's eyes grew wider. "So wouldn't you WANT to pull it out?"

"You see that hook in the end of the blade?" William pointed at the blade tip as Parker joined them.

"Yeah…" Hardison frowned.

William scratched his chin. "You gone fishing, ain't you, boy?"

Eliot and Parker both snorted trying to stifle their laughter before Eliot responded. "Dad, Hardison doesn't do 'outdoors'."

"No…" William rolled his head side to side hunting for an appropriate word before giving up. "Brainiac, I suppose." Eliot nodded.

"Great, now I'm being insulted by people before I even meet 'em. Thank you, Eliot… thank you," Hardison whined.

"It's your doing," Eliot admonished.

"So what about fishing?" Hardison sighed.

"Fish hooks have barbs on the end, much like the hook of this blade. They enter cleanly, but try to pull back and it will tear another hole even larger coming back. If you pull that knife out, you may as well finish amputating it for him," William explained.

Hardison nodded slowly and swallowed. "Leaving the knife - got it."

"Still need to slow the bleeding," Parker observed.

"You," William pointed at Parker.

"Parker," she answered.

"Parker… unusual but a very beautiful name… can you brace him for me?" he asked.

She nodded and knelt down behind Eliot, pulling his back down on her knees and placing her hands on his shoulders to keep him still.

"You help me here, son," William continued as he dropped the strip of his shirt next to Eliot's leg. Hardison stared at the spectacle.

"He means you, Hardison," Parker barked.

Hardison rolled his eyes around, "Oh." He knelt down next to William, near Eliot's chest.

"I'm gonna lift his leg, I need you to lay this under there just above the knee," William explained.

"Yeah, got it," Hardison replied.

William placed his left hand under Eliot's thigh; his right hand grasped the upper calf. He took a breath and lifted slowly – keeping the knee as still as possible. Once he had lifted a few inches, Hardison slid the strip under the leg and William lowered Eliot's leg carefully.

"Not bad," he laughed as he slapped Hardison's shoulder. He pulled the ends of the strip up and began to tie a tourniquet above the wound. Eliot clenched his teeth but remained silent.

"That's a lot of blood," Hardison fretted.

"That's why we're trying to slow it down. The hospital will fix it up."

"You _DO _realize the hospital is gonna report this to the police, right?" Parker asked.

"Don't have much choice. Someone has to patch it up, and I don't know any surgeons, do you?" William responded.

"Can we worry about it later?" Eliot groaned. "Kind of bleeding out here."

"We'll figure it out in the car," Hardison answered. Parker raised her eyebrow at him. "What? It works for Nate."

* * *

Eliot awoke in the hospital. He was alone in the recovery room. His knee was bound tightly, his hand was braced and a bandage covered his nose. The IV in his hand led up to the saline bag and what he could only guess was morphine. No pain signals ran through his brain at the moment. It was a pleasant feeling. The lack of handcuffs on his wrists was another. He lay back and listened to the hum of the machines and the muffled hospital sounds in the hallway. He was alive… and so were those he cared about most. Now was the time to recuperate before the next crazy came around looking for trouble.

"You're awake! My boy!" Evelyn shouted as she entered the room. William, Dillon, Parker, Hardison and Quinn all followed suit. Quinn's arm was bandaged under the sleeve, while William's face showed bruising and a swollen nose. Eliot sat up carefully as Evelyn squeezed him tight.

"How you feeling, son?" William inquired.

"Not feeling much of anything… morphine's working," Eliot laughed.

"You were pretty out of it by the time we got here. Figured we'd get some grub while you were sleeping it off," Hardison explained.

"Brixton was picked up by the sheriff. They also cleared out his motel room. I have a feeling he won't be getting out again – EVER," Parker added.

"What about us?" Eliot swallowed.

"That would be classified information that I am not at liberty to divulge," Hardison cracked.

"We'll tell you later," Parker grinned.

"I probably don't wanna know," Eliot replied.

"We did talk to Nate and Sophie… they send well wishes and will be having a nice LONG talk with us when they get back from their honeymoon," Hardison added.

Eliot glanced around the bed before a thought occurred to him. "How is Jesse doing?"

Evelyn smiled wide. "She came out of the coma while you were in surgery. It was brief, she's sleeping right now. The doctors were still with her trying to determine how she's really doing, but she IS back with us."

He smiled and nodded.

"I'm just grateful to have all of you alive and that this whole mess is done. I've never been so scared in all my life!" Evelyn cried.

"I couldn't agree more," William concurred as he pulled her against him.

A nurse ducked into the room. "The doctor is able to see you about your daughter now, also she has a visitor wanting to see her," she noted.

"Wonderful! Let's go!" Evelyn shouted.

"Parker, hand me those…" Eliot pointed at a pair of crutches against the wall. Hardison glared at him. "What? Yeah, I know, but I can barely feel it – I know it won't hold me up."

"We'll wait for you, dear," Evelyn smiled.

"You and Dillon go on ahead, I want a word with Eliot and his friends, then I'll be sure to get him up there with me," William insisted.

"Excuse me?" The nurse frowned. "He shouldn't be getting out of that bed."

Hardison gently patted the air in front of her. "He's using the crutches… take the win."

The nurse shook her head and walked out.

"We'll see you up there." Evelyn gathered Dillon and exited the room.

William swallowed before addressing the group. "I wanted to say thank you to all of you. You risked your lives to keep my family safe from my mess with no regard for yourselves. I can never repay the debt."

"Eliot's our family… which makes you family. You have to be there for family. I know Eliot would do the same for me," Hardison admitted.

"I would," Eliot breathed. He raised his hand, Hardison slapped it twice and fist bumped him.

"All the same," William continued. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Parker smiled. She tapped Hardison's arm and they pulled back to the door. Quinn dipped his head and headed out.

"Eliot…" William began.

"Dad, I think we said it all," Eliot interrupted. William nodded.

"Thanks…" William insisted.

They both sat in awkward silence for a moment.

"So… shall we?" Eliot grinned.

"Yeah," William grabbed the crutches and brought them over. Eliot eased his leg over the edge of the bed, and lined himself up on the crutches. He grasped the crutch with his right thumb, careful not to jar his hand. Two breaths later he pushed up onto his feet.

"You good?" Hardison called from the door.

"Yeah," Eliot responded. He took a few steps. William kept alongside him as they followed Parker and Hardison out into the hall.

* * *

Eliot hobbled into Jesse's room on the crutches. Everyone was gathered around the room. One new face caught his attention. A young man stood near Jesse's side, adorned in a crisp dress shirt and khaki pants.

"Hello?" Eliot frowned.

"You must be Eliot, Jesse talked about you quite a bit…" the man began.

"Flynn?" Eliot guessed.

"Yes, sir," Flynn answered. Eliot glanced at the watch on Flynn's wrist. The initials engraved in the face read N. C.

"N?" Eliot questioned.

"Nigel Flynn Carter… I go by Flynn. It gets a little more respect among the younger crowd. It is hard to market to the younger generations when they're stuck on your name," Flynn explained.

"Makes sense," Hardison answered.

"Flynn got a flight out as soon as he could, isn't that sweet?" Evelyn smiled.

"Nice to meet you," Eliot sighed.

"Glad to hear you getting along," Jesse's voice cracked.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Flynn fussed over her.

"I'm sore, but I think I'll live," she answered.

Eliot crowded up against the bed. He kissed Jesse's forehead gently.

"Did you get him?" Jesse asked, eyeing Eliot's condition.

"Yeah, we got him. Dad did," Eliot replied. Her brow raised at that. "It's a LONG story."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm great… now." Eliot smiled are her.


End file.
